How to Train Your Human
by Hoperise
Summary: Everyone thinks that Reid is a genius. Reid's cat thinks he's an idiot. Follow the adventures of Schrödie the cat as he attempts to cat-train his human. Remember, the best laid plans of cats and men often go awry. Domestic fic with unique guest appearances. Follows 'Animals Your Soul Will Guide.'
1. To Build a Home

Summary: Everyone thinks that Reid is a genius. Reid's cat thinks he's an idiot. Follow the adventures of Schrödie the cat as he attempts to cat-train his human. Remember, the best laid plans of cats and men often go awry... Domestic fic.

Genre: Family

Setting: Early Season 9

Musical Inspiration: 'To Build a Home,' The Cinematic Orchestra

* * *

Schrödie was pretty sure he had a defective human.

Granted, his experience with humans had been limited to the Master, Mistress, and Grabby-handed Girl Child. They had taken him from his mother in the spring, had him declawed and abandoned him by the first snowfall. Not a splendid experience overall.

But even with all their faults, his old humans had been cat-trained. They could guess what he wanted when he scratched and meowed; they made gooey-human noises and squishy faces in his direction. They took him to see Cold Hands when he threw up on the carpet and gave him treats arbitrarily.

By comparison, the Reid human was pretty stupid.

To his credit, Reid human never tried to grab him off the ground or pull on his tail. Reid didn't seem to care if he climbed on the bookshelves, didn't make {{Disgust, Outrage}} sounds at his mangy fur. Reid didn't own one of those picture boxes that made loud noises, and he didn't have visitors banging down the door day and night. His long fingers were perfect for reaching all of Schrödie's itchy places at the same time.

He did, however, have a most annoying habit of taking a bag and rushing out a moment's notice, leaving him with the neighbor lady next door (and she _was_ a grabber).

On his first day in the apartment, Reid human committed the unforgivable sin: he gave Schrödie a bath. If that wasn't humiliation enough, Reid followed up by making him take medicine. The indignant fury clung to him hours after the smell of the shampoo faded.

It was only the next morning that Schrodie realized that in his fury he had forgotten about his soreness.

Further down on Reid's list of sins were his attempts to sneak increasing amounts of weird food into the dry mix Schrödie had grown accustomed to at the shelter. Admittedly, the weird food made him feel a bit fuller than the kibble alone - but it was weird!

Schrödie tried to show him the error of his ways by vomiting the hated food on the carpet. While that provided a bit of amusement in watching Reid hunt around the apartment to find his malodorous gifts, the weird food continued to invade his bowl. Finally, Schrödie conceded the win as he noticed his mangy patches becoming less bothersome as time passed.

Oddly enough, the Reid human didn't talk to him. In those first few disorienting days at the apartment, Reid occasionally made happy noises and chattered in his direction. Then one day, he had been in the midst of a sentence and stopped abruptly, causing the feline to turn and face his direction. The blood drained from Reid's face so quickly that Schrödie was afraid he might collapse. Reid left the room.

He came back shortly thereafter, but he didn't make noises to Schrödie after that.

He did, however, spend a lot of time sleeping.

He made noises then.

Schrödie could have attributed the food deception and the torturous bath to malice, but after some observation he realized that the poor human didn't know how to take care of himself.

Left to his own devices, Reid tended to bury his pointy nose in a stack of books and forgot about everything - sleeping, grooming, and the crucial obligation to feed the kitty. Hours ticked by and Reid remained statuesque, moving only to flip pages and exchange one book for yet another. Schrödie started to understand why this human was so scrawny.

After failing to open the cupboard on his own, the tabby smoothed his fur and wiggled his way under Reid's elbow, pushing his way into the human's line of sight and glaring pointedly.

Reid blinked his stupid brown eyes, looking from the clock on the wall to the moon outside the window before making a {{Stress, Embarrassment}} laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and heading to the kitchen to make lunch.

Following that incident, the Reid human made more of an effort to remember proper mealtimes. He even began picking up his own things to nibble on while coming back from the kitchen. In a few short weeks, the human started to lose his starving-waif appearance.

Schrödie, of course, took all the (well-deserved) credit.

The feline commenced a cunning plan to cat-train his human. To demonstrate proper hunting technique and ensure he was contributing to the household food supply, Schrödie neatly left a headless mouse or two on Reid's pillow.

If Reid started to get too lost in his books and neglected his pet-the-kitty breaks, Schrödie helpfully reminded by batting at his ankles or knocking things over until the human paid attention.

Schrödie took naps by the front door in the evening and made sure to lavish the tall man with praise for coming home at a decent hour, purring and rubbing against Reid's legs to remind him about dinnertime.

It was hardly his fault when, late one night, while Schrödie meowed and wove a figure eight around his human's shins, Reid tripped and smashed his head against the corner of an end table.

The cat sat back on his haunches, blinking owlishly. His tail flicked.

Um... whoops.

So much for that plan.

* * *

I'm really not a cat person, but I love Schrödie. I wanted to experiment with telling a story from an extremely limited perspective - no discernible dialogue and one setting. The nature of Criminal Minds is episodic and case-driven, but we never get to see these gentle domestic moments.

I love the opportunities this offers to tell stories about Reid's character without examining his words, thoughts, or even his actions in a typical 'casefic' setting. I have an Evernote doc full of one-shot ideas for this specific cat. Guys. You don't even know.

Shoot me a review if you'd like to see what happens after the Reid human hits his head. Or if you have other Schrödie/Henry prompt ideas, or if you think there should be random Reid sidebars or introduce a particular character to the terrible tabby.

As always,

**Don't write the story. Live the story.**


	2. In the Nighttime

Summary: Everyone thinks that Reid is a genius. Reid's cat thinks he's an idiot. Follow the adventures of Schrödie the cat as he attempts to cat-train his human. Remember, the best laid plans of cats and men often go awry... Domestic fic. Follows 'Animals Your Soul Will Guide.'

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

Setting: Early Season 9

Musical Inspiration: "Bears," by Sam Isaacs

* * *

I confess. I couldn't figure out a way to write this from Schrödie's perspective, but I really wanted to include it. The last section of the first chapter grabbed me by the ankle and forced me to write this chapter, so we've officially broken the wall into H/C. Apologies. (But not really. :D).

* * *

His ears were ringing.

He was lying face down on the floor of his apartment. A cat - his cat - was staring at him, and his ears were ringing.

How did that happen?

A pair of wide, slitted amber eyes stared intently into his, apparently as confused as he was. Schrödie's ears lay flat against his head, mackerel gray tail tucked tightly against white-socked paws. Fear, some distant part of Reid's brain recognized. No wonder Schrödie was scared, what with the mail strewn across the floor and his owner napping on the ground in front of him.

Then, the ringing in his ears was drowned out by the pounding of his pulse and the breathtaking sensation that he'd been struck in the face with a hammer.

He attempted to draw in air to fuel a moan, but something was jabbing into his ribs. Lying awkwardly on his front with his legs sprawled gracelessly beneath, his beloved messenger bag jutted into his stomach and prevented him from taking a full breath.

How had he gotten on the floor in the first place?

Mustering his strength, Reid clumsily slid his arms back until his hands were parallel with his shoulders, palms flat on the ground. He counted to three before pushing off the floor.

Then his right hand slipped in something wet and he went down hard, the left side of his face bouncing off the wood.

A stellar explosion stole his vision, captivated as he was by the magnificent display of light and colors yet unobserved by man. Galaxies were birthed, aged, and died on the back of his eyelids.

Reid hadn't the breath to mourn their passing, to cry out in shock. He hadn't been in this much pain since the last time he'd been shot.

He hadn't been shot again, had he?

One would think that he would remember something like that. The gap in his eidetic memory was a little disturbing. Detective Agent Dr. Reid would have to put on his deerstalker and figure out what happened.

Instead, he coughed. When his vision returned he wondered when Schrödie had teleported to the other side of the room. The gray striped tabby lay cowering under the piano, eyes two distant golden specks.

Reid's forehead was wet.

Sluggishly, he brought a hand to his scalp. It came away red, like the pool in front of him that had lost him his grip.

Oh. Well, that would explain some things.

Reid turned over on his back, waves of pain radiating from his forehead. His IQ of 187 told him the puddle of red on the ground in front of him probably wasn't a good sign, but the dull haze of shock kept him from getting too worried about it.

He took a deep breath and sighed. Was that water damage on the ceiling? It had better not be, not with the rent he was paying.

Sitting up on his elbows, Reid let his chin fall to his chest for a moment to stop the room from spinning. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as blood traced its way down the right side of his face.

Right. He should probably deal with that.

Too dizzy to find his feet, he fumbled with the zipper on his messenger bag, fighting until it surrendered his cell phone.

Something was definitely wronger than he thought. His movements were clumsy, distant. His hands cooperated reluctantly, as though he only controlled his arms up to the wrist. The phone slipped from his loose grip and clattered to the ground.

Traitor.

He tried a second time, swaying slightly as he leaned over to unlock the phone with his dry hand. The screen illuminated his darkened apartment, the only source of light besides the corner lamp he must have hastily switched on after entering and sometime before dropping the mail. The display read 3:35 AM.

Reid wondered distantly how long he'd been on the floor and swiped at the touchscreen again.

Even concussed and bleeding, he remembered Morgan's number.

Morgan would know. Morgan would help.

...that is, if he would pick up his phone.

A frustrated groan escaped his throat. He hit redial and found a handkerchief in his bag, pressing it to his forehead to stem the flow.

Dialing.

Dialing.

"You've reached Derek Morgan. Sorry I missed your call..."

Reid swore.

He was dialing Hotch when he remembered through a cloud of confusion that at some point during the case, his boss's phone wound up in a lake. The call went straight to voicemail.

He made another exasperated sound, folding the cloth over on itself and knuckling it against his scalp as he dialed Morgan for the third time. A lightning bolt struck his temple, crackled through his jaw and shot down to his toes. He might have hissed. He might have started yodelling, for all he could hear at the moment.

Then the pain receded and he could focus again.

Just in time to hear a familiar voice grumbling up at him from the phone.

"-eid? Are you there?"

He blinked in surprise, leaning over on his elbow to address the device on the ground. "Heyyy, it's Morgan. Morr-gannnnn. More-gun.. Wow, I never thoughta that." He let out a distant, hysterical laugh, distracted.

A heavy sigh. "This had better be good, kid."

Reid cleared his throat. "Uhh-hhh, I kinda need s'me help." His words were slurring together, but at this point he was focusing on staying upright. Annunciation could take the back seat.

Irritation from broken sleep bled into Morgan's tone. "Meaning what exactly?"

"We-ell, I'm in a bitta trouble and basic'lly I jus' need a ride is all. Think Schrödinger's in on it, but 'm not... Not sure how." Reid replied sheepishly. He would have scratched his head in embarrassment, but that would mean dropping the cloth holding his brains in. Which would be bad.

In the background, he could hear a sleepy feminine voice. That caused his brow to wrinkle, which caused the cloth on his forehead to dampen further. Was he talking to a woman right now? He wished she would come closer to the phone. Then he heard Morgan addressing her and the distinct sound of a closing door.

"The guy with the cat and the box? Reid, are you drunk?"

Right! Morgan was on the phone. He straightened, ignoring the tremble in the elbow propping him up. "Morgan! No no, I'm not drunk. I didn't even... well, I dunno, I mighta been drinking.. I don't really... can' really think right now. It's wei-eird."

Another sigh. This one sounded less patient. "After a case like that, I get it. It's whatever. Do what you have to do. But trust me, it's not gonna help."

Reid frowned further, which caused his head to hurt even more. His words began to run together in his effort to be understood. "S'not that. M'rgan, 'm not drunk. Promise. I jus' needa ride."

"Listen, kid, how you deal with this job is your business. For tonight, though, call a cab. We'll talk in the morning."

And then he was protesting to no one as the line went dead.

"Morgan. More gunnnn." He swore again, sliding back to the floor as a wave of dizziness crashed over him.

Welp.

That left one other option.

"911, what's your emergency?"

He gave his name, address, and callback number to the tiny glowy screen in his phone. "'m not sure what happened... I woke up on the floor and my head won' stop bleeding. I think I fell?"

A clear female voice responded, much more helpful than Morgan or the voicemail lady. "Mr. Reid, do you know how long you were unconscious?"

"It's Dr. Reid." He corrected distantly, lying back down before he fell down. "But not the kind that helps people. 'Cept when I do. An' sometimes I don't." That thought made him sad for some reason.

The phone lady seemed to understand, or if she didn't, she didn't comment. "Listen to me, Dr. Reid. Can you tell me how long you were unconscious?"

"Somewher' between one to two.. Maybe two an' a half hours? 'm not sure. You could ask Schrödie, but he's not good for conversation." He replied, watching as a cozy darkness began creeping in at the edges of his vision.

"Is there someone with you, Dr. Reid? May I speak with him or her?"

"Just a cat. Crazy people talk to cats. I don' recommend it." The darkness crept in further.

"I've dispatched an ambulance. Help is on the way." The operator said in a soothing voice.

Reid almost smiled. He always met the nicest women over the phone. "Oh, good. Tell them to look for the guy passing out on the floor."

Then, black.

* * *

"Hey, Hotch."

"Reid, what's going on? You're an hour late already. Is everything alright?"

"Sorry about that. I actually won't be coming in this morning. I've got a crazy headache; I won't be much use to you today."

Reid glanced at the mirror in his bathroom morosely. His head was wrapped in bandages that masked seventeen stitches in his scalp.

Genuine surprise on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry to hear that. I would've liked to have known earlier, but it looks like a quiet day so far. We'll manage."

"Yeah, I tried to get you on your cell, but that wasn't really an option." Half-formed sentences traffic jammed his throat as he tried to think of how to communicate his doctor's orders.

"Right. That's another thing on the list. Well, I'll let you know if a case comes in. See you in the morning."

The line went dead before Reid figured out how to explain the situation. He put his phone on the table, checking to make sure his alarm was set, and laid down on the sofa to resume his audiobook.

A curious Schrödie padded his way along the back of the sofa and climbed down to rest on Reid's stomach. Long fingers reached out automatically to stroke the mackerel tabby's fur.

"Hey, 'roomie.' You're gonna take good care of me, right?" Reid asked distantly, hyperaware that he was talking to himself, but willing to excuse it at the moment.

Schrödie blinked slowly in his direction, purring at the contact.

He couldn't help but smile. "I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

Reid found himself by the phone the next morning after his six AM cognitive self-evaluation, calling Hotch's work number to catch the voicemail before the man got into the office.

Success!

"Hotch, it's me. Uh, you remember that headache I told you about yesterday? Well, I saw a doctor about it and it's kind of a serious thing. Basically I've got a Grade III concussion and can't come in for a couple of days. So... give me a call. Bye." He hung up and slumped against the kitchen counter, all but expecting his phone to come to life and bite his head off.

Maybe leaving a message wasn't the best way to break the news, but he didn't know how else to explain that he'd knocked himself out tripping over a cat the team didn't know he had.

Or how to bring up the fact that he was under doctor's orders not to read or do any activity that would provoke strong cognitive activity for the next five days. Like for example, his job.

The coffeepot sat on the counter, beckoning seductively. He glanced over and looked away. Not now. Not if he wanted some later.

He plopped down on the sofa once more. Despite the fact that he'd slept for the past thirteen hours, he was exhausted. Maybe a nap would help.

* * *

BANG BANG BANG!

Startled awake by someone attempting to break down his door, Reid threw the blanket off his legs. Schrödie darted across the room to his hiding place below the piano. The insistent noise launched Reid toward the entryway. Such a sudden shift in position sent blood rushing from his head, to be replaced by colored dots that clouded out his vision and burst in painful swirls.

Swaying slightly, he gripped the door frame to keep himself steady. He jumped as the impatient pounding at the door returned.

Irritation swelled irrationally inside his chest as he grabbed for the handle. "I'm here, I'm here, keep your shirt on-"

And he was met by the incredulous stare of his partner.

For a moment, the larger man appeared dumbstruck. Maybe it was shock at the heavy bandage across his forehead. Maybe it was concern at the abstract bruising that mottled the left side of his face. Or maybe it was just envy for his spectacularly comfortable robe.

Reid hung on the door handle, his lips thinning. "Hey, Morgan."

* * *

I think I might alternate chapters, telling one from Schrodie's perspective and one from Reid's. What do you think? Also, if you're wondering where Schrödie came from, check out my short fic 'Animals Your Soul Will Guide.' It's under 1k and super sweet.

Next time: other humans! Protective Schrödie! And other things.

As always,

**Don't write the story. Live the story.**


	3. If I Only Could

Summary: Everyone thinks that Reid is a genius. Reid's cat thinks he's an idiot. Follow the adventures of Schrödie the cat as he attempts to cat-train his human. Remember, the best laid plans of cats and men often go awry... Domestic fic. Follows 'Animals Your Soul Will Guide.'

Genre: Family

Setting: Early Season 9

Musical Inspiration: 'Running Up That Hill,' by Track and Field. This song (and version) is pretty important for this chapter - you will miss the point of the second act without hearing it. Or you can intentionally read this like Schrödie and not understand - so you have two reading experiences to choose from.

* * *

In his defense, Schrödie wasn't hiding, per se. He was providing a strategic lookout from a tactically advantageous position. The door swung open and he could see a tall figure behind the Reid human. Tall Human was giving off a strong fear scent, but his body language was overtly aggressive. He also smelt like dog, which did nothing to endear him to Schrödie's heart.

Reid human addressed him calmly; the set of his shoulders betrayed his defensiveness.

Tall Human hooked his thumbs in his pockets and examined Reid cautiously. He greeted him with casual gruffness: {{Frustration, Worry.}}

{{Defiance,}} Reid replied, raising his chin slightly. His comfortable slouch was missing, back stiff with tension. The visitor was evidently unaccustomed to such cool treatment. Still, Reid opened the door wide enough for Tall Human to make his way inside.

Nodding his head distantly, Tall Human entered and gave the apartment a scrutinizing glance. His dark eyes settled on the Reid human, hands coming to rest on his hips. {{Justification, Exasperation. Curiosity?}}

The usually peaceful Reid turned away, hands clenching and unclenching. {{Irritation, Shame.}}

{{Frustration,}} Tall Human replied, advancing further. He was really starting to annoy the feline. Who was this outsider to invade Schrödie's territory and try to dominate his human?

Reid made a shame laugh, retreating further into the apartment and raising his hands slightly as though to ward off the intruder. {{Desperation, Defensiveness.}}

Tall Human's body language shifted, aggression fading into something a bit more genuine. His jaw was still set with determination, but his gaze was understanding - even concerned. {{Protective. Familial. Bewilderment.}}

Reid ducked his head, tone a bit quieter in proportional response. {{Insecurity?}}

Tall Human (Morgan, probably, by the repeated noise that Reid made for him) smiled wryly, the last of the tension melting away as his shoulders dropped. {{Reassurance. Humor. Familial.}} He moved to the sofa and sat, while Reid lingered near the chess set by the window. With the alpha tamed and the Reid human back in charge, Schrödie relaxed enough to come out from his lookout position.

In retrospect, what followed was Morgan's fault. He was the one who'd belligerently invaded Schrödie's third-favorite napping spot.

Morgan raised a dark eyebrow, tilting his head to the side as Schrödie landed elegantly on the arm of the sofa. {{Confusion?}} One would think he'd never seen a specimen of grace and perfection before.

Come to think of it, he probably hadn't.

Reid folded his arms over his chest, on guard once more, but also amused by the other human's reaction. {{Defensiveness.}} "Schrödie." {{Justification.}}

Tall Human's eyebrows rose. {{Surprise.}} "Schrödie?" And then the unthinkable - huge hands came reaching towards him and yanked him into the air.

The floor fell away at a dizzying rate. Schrödie spread his paws straight out, seeking purchase in the empty air. He flattened his ears against his head, eyes wide as he twisted and squirmed. No no no, he was not a pick-me-up cat.

In the distance he heard Reid protesting the rough treatment. He felt a rumbling chuckle from Morgan as the man turned him over to support his hind legs. The extra security was welcome, but there was still way too much touching going on. Schrödie swiped furiously at Morgan's fingers, forgetting for an instant that his claws had been removed.

Oh, right. Time for Plan B.

Morgan yelped and yanked his hand away. The tang of copper flooded Schrödie's mouth and suddenly the support was gone. He fell, down, down, twisting in the air to land on all fours. Hissing fiercely, the tabby hit the ground running and dashed back to his hiding spot under the piano.

Somewhere, Reid was laughing and Morgan made {{Outrage, Embarrassment}} noises.

His honor defended, Reid's tension disappeared as he fetched bandages from the bathroom and Morgan ran his bleeding hand under the faucet.

A few minutes passed in relative calm. Occasional banter passed between the humans as Morgan patched up the jagged bite mark on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Meeker now that his pride had been injured, the older human turned to Reid and made the same {{Curiosity?}} statement that he had before.

Reid sighed and provided a resigned explanation. An interesting reversal of roles took place: the longer Reid talked, the more tense Morgan became. This time around Morgan had lost his aggression and was stricken with anxious fear.

Understanding that cornered animals could still lash out, Schrödie assured himself that he could still attack the intruder's ankles if necessary.

Comprehension dawned on Morgan. His brows raised and drew together, dark eyes wide. He emitted some disjointed {{Shock}} noises, finally stringing enough syllables together to form a coherent statement of {{Regret, Apprehension?}}

Reid angled his body away. Putting a hand to his colorful forehead and grimacing involuntarily, his voice came out low and almost too controlled. {{Dismissive.}}

The older human approached slowly. Sadness colored his scent as he launched into the longest series of {{Protective, Regret}} affirmations that Schrödie had yet witnessed.

Briefly he wondered if the two humans came from the same litter. Sure, their fur looked different, but the tabby hadn't heard protectiveness like that since leaving his mother's side.

When he left, Morgan took the manila rectangles he'd brought with him.

Reid slept easier that night.

* * *

The radio played softly while Reid stood, washing dishes. Schrödie was laying on top of the bookshelf by the heating vent, enjoying a lazy nap. Then, the noises on the radio changed from idle chatter to something entirely otherworldly.

A piano played a soft, sad melody that made Schrödie think of water dripping from the leaves outside the window. A male human's voice sang out, anguished and lonely. The melody rose and fell from minor to major and back to minor key, constantly approaching hope and always retreating.

Schrödie realized all at once that Reid wasn't washing dishes anymore. He stood frozen, staring into the sink and swallowing heavily.

Drums beat in sync with the piano's melody and the singer grew louder, mournful, as another voice accompanied his in a chorus of {{Despair, Loss, Regret.}}

Tears slipped from Reid's eyes almost unnoticed. He drew his hands from the water and dried them on a towel, spending almost a minute on such a simple task. When he pulled them away, his hands trembled violently. He dipped his head and made an odd movement, as though he wanted to cover his ears, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Picking his way down from the bookshelf, Schrödie lowered his head and approached his master slowly. The fur along his spine stood on end, his ears swiveling back and forth.

The chorus grew soft; the piano repeating that simple, mournful melody for a couple of bars before the drums returned in full force. Reid let out a gasping sob and doubled over, clutching the counter for support.

Padding closer on jelly-bean toes, Schrödie tucked his tail tight to his body, unsure if the human was going to vomit or fall down and ready to scamper away just in case.

The song drew to an unresolved finish. The wish hung thick in the air even after the radio box began broadcasting a cheery jingle, unaware of the distress it had caused. His lanky human straightened as though an electric current had rippled through his body. He dashed across the room and shut the radio off with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, lingering for a moment before sagging to his knees on the kitchen floor. Shoulders shaking, one hand flattened against the linoleum while the other dug into his hairline.

Tail drooping, Schrödie nuzzled against Reid's side. He pressed as much of his body as he could against the human, attempting to cover up the sorrow-smell with his own scent. Staring up with pupils dilated, Schrödie meowed lightly to get Reid's attention.

The shaggy-haired human let out a hiccoughing laugh and looked over in the direction of Schrödie's food, starting to get up.

Stupid human. Reid never knew what he actually meant. The tabby meowed louder, planting his paws on the man's knees and climbing onto his warm lap.

Baffled, the human sat back and let himself be comforted as grief threatened to overtake him.

Schrödie curled up in a ball of gray and black, wondering when Reid had changed from being 'that human' to _his_ human.

* * *

For the next couple of days, the radio remained silent. Reid puttered about the apartment, taking extra time to do things he usually blazed through or forgot about. He cleaned everything, scrubbing faded bloodstains off the floor, dusting the shelves, disassembling and reassembling his gun; he lingered over the stove; he slept in. He practiced magic and sketched pictures that looked odd even to Schrödie.

And he played the piano.

Hesitantly at first, but with increasing confidence, Schrödie listened as Reid taught himself to play the same haunting melody he'd heard on the radio.

He played until his fingers slipped, shaking, from the keys; until his eyes were puffy and he fell asleep on the sofa, clutching a book he never opened.

Worried as a cat could be, Schrödie relocated his lookout position to the table beside the piano. He wanted to make sure he was close by if needed.

Because his lonely human needed so much.

Schrödie's afternoon nap by the ceiling vent was disturbed first by a distant, spicy scent that sent his tiny nose into overdrive. A jaunty rap at the door drew him to his feet.

His tousle-headed human had been taking a break from his lesson. He was in the kitchen, staring the teakettle into submission, when the noise reached his ears. Jolting slightly at the noise, Reid ran a hand through untidy hair in an attempt to tame it.

He flung the door open to reveal a blonde female in glasses and the brightest outfit Schrödie had ever seen. Purple lacy fabric clashed brilliantly with a golden scarf and belt. She was holding a large grease-spotted bag and a plain white box that smelled absolutely incredible. She greeted him cheerfully, warm smile fading as she took in his rumpled appearance and red-rimmed eyes. {{Concern?}}

Reid's smile faltered. He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. {{Melancholy.}}

{{Plaintive?}}

He mumbled his assent, stepping aside to allow her entry. Subtly scrubbing at his eyes with one sleeve, he closed the door after her.

Blonde Human bustled about the apartment - not trying to assert her dominance, just operating as though she knew she had permission. {{Encouragement. Warmth. Love.}} She set her back to Reid as she made room at the table to set down the food.

Appreciative, Reid composed himself before moving to fetch the plates.

She met him in the kitchen, drawing a can of mixed nuts from the bag and pressing it into his hands in exchange for the dishware. {{Care. Concern.}}

Reid smiled fondly at the can. {{Gratitude.}}

They tucked in to plates of tetrahedral pastries, eating with their bare hands and rudely ignoring the adorable cat climbing down off the bookshelf.

Vexed, Schrödie made himself known by meowing loudly and rubbing against Reid's ankles. He was polite enough not to climb on the table during human dinner - but in all fairness, Reid ought to have been polite enough to share.

Blonde Human smiled down at him. {{Delight, Sass. Warmth.}}

He couldn't understand her words, but he knew when he was being praised. Schrödie meowed and brushed against her shin. Since she had such fine taste, he would tolerate this one.

Reid wiped his hands and stood up like a good human, heading into the kitchen towards Schrödie's dish. But instead of bringing it to the table and sharing the savoury-spicy-meat-smelling deliciousness, he took out a can opener and filled the dish with Schrödie's regular food.

Vocalizing his displeasure and looking longingly at the table, the tabby stayed put.

The human compromised by putting a couple of treats in with his dish.

Oh well. He'd have to settle for the consolation prize. Not unreasonable, Schrödie prowled away from the table with his tail held high and busied himself at his dish.

They moved to the sofa, snacking on bright orange sugar spirals and making light {{Happy, Joking}} conversation.

Once he'd groomed the last of his dinner from his whiskers, he stalked back into the living room and pondered why it was that new humans always felt the need to invade his sofa. The tabby leaped onto the cushions, intent on settling on the back, when Blonde Human (Garcia, he surmised) intervened.

She cooed at him, tracing fingernails lightly down the fur on Schrödie's back. He shivered and arched his back deeper into her touch. Oh, lady. She knew exactly the right way to rub him.

Before Reid could protest, she'd swept Schrödie into her arms and pressed him against her bosom. The tabby squirmed indignantly, then settled down a bit as he sank into the warm, cushy pillow. Well, this wasn't so bad. She smelled of citrus and sunshine.

{{Concern! Calm..}} Worry lines faded into confusion, then muted acceptance as Reid noticed Schrödie's contented purr.

Garcia chuckled. {{Pride. Warmth.}} She scratched his head with those incredible fingernails and Schrödie melted into a puddle of purring delight. {{Curiosity?}}

Reid's gaze snuck to the piano, then to the floor. Long fingers rubbed against his upper arm and he dipped his tousled head as he looked back at Garcia. {{Vague. Melancholy. Anticipation?}}

{{Excitement! Affection.}} She smiled gently, giving a permissive nod as she continued to stroke Schrödie's head.

Reid drew a shaky breath and sat down at the piano bench. He clenched his hands into fists then spread his fingers wide and began to play.

Garcia must have recognized the tune, because she stiffened early in the performance. Her grip became tight, forcing an uneasy Schrödie to wriggle his way out. She paid him no attention, eyes fixed on the Reid human. She was making those sad eyebrows, leaning forward with one ring-laden hand rising to cover her heart.

Reid human had been practicing. He pressed into the keys with rising emotive force as the chorus built, the inner corners of his eyebrows raising slightly. His expression became more tight and drawn as the song progressed.

When the soft portion of the bridge came, the notes lost their yearning fluidity and fell into discord. Reid's fingers slipped from the keys. His lips turned down, cheeks raised as though he were squinting and mouth open slightly. Trembling hands retreated slowly from the keyboard as though from a wild animal.

He was, in short, a portrait of agony.

For a moment, there was silence. The only sound in the apartment was the ticking of the clock on the wall and Reid's ragged breathing.

Garcia swept forward and embraced him tightly as the tears began to fall.

The tabby crouched low on the ground and wrapped his tail around himself, uncomprehending. Perhaps his human wasn't as alone as Schrödie had thought. At least he had others who understood him.

* * *

Sincerely, thank you guys so much for giving this fic 24 reviews in like two days. It's definitely a first in my writing career. Special shout out to those of you who went ahead and reviewed all of the stories in this Reid-Henry-Schrödie cycle. You guys make me feel so warm and fuzzy. :3

For reference, Garcia brought Reid samosas and jelabi. No one ever wants to eat Indian food with Reid...

It's really interesting trying to write conversations without any dialogue. I had to write the lines, analyze the emotions behind them, write the body language, then delete the spoken words. Fun stuff! Hope you guys enjoyed it. You know who's up next.

Best,

**Don't write the story. Live the story.**


	4. Here's My Hope, My Tired Soul

Summary: Everyone thinks that Reid is a genius. Reid's cat thinks he's an idiot. Follow the adventures of Schrödie the cat as he attempts to cat-train his human. Remember, the best laid plans of cats and men often go awry. Domestic fic with some unique guest appearances. Follows 'Animals Your Soul Will Guide.'

Genre: Family

Setting: Early Season 9

Musical Inspiration: 'My Father's Father,' by The Civil Wars. If you're a guitar person, this is the prettiest song.

* * *

"I didn't want to tell Morgan because I was worried that he'd treat me like a child."

Garcia made an affirming noise, swirling her spoon in the depths of her mug. "What did Morgan say to that?"

A hazy grin flickered across his multicolored face. "He said, 'Come on. Like a single bizarro moment of oversight in the brilliant life of Doctor Reid would make me forget all the times you've come through for the team. All the times you've had my back. Are you kidding me?'"

Lips glossed light pink quirked into a familiar grin. "That's my chocolate thunder."

"He also said, he might laugh at me, but that didn't mean he doesn't respect me." Reid refilled his mug, watching patterns rise in the steam before adding a couple of heaping teaspoons of sugar to the scalding liquid.

Garcia took a sip as he stirred. "And what do you think of that?"

He shrugged thin shoulders. "I mean, I haven't had a lot of experience in this area." Brown eyes swept over the muted green walls, not daring to look at his friend. "The only constant thing in my life is people leaving me. On some level I believe that people can be reliable, and yet simultaneously I have thirty years of evidence that says they won't be there for me."

Her voice was thick with emotion. "Yeah? Well, I think your sampling is flawed."

Reid looked up, surprised to see that Garcia's eyes were suspiciously bright behind electric blue frames. "I don't know why bad things keep happening to you, but don't you say that you're alone in this. That's not fair. What about me? What about Morgan, Hotch, JJ, Rossi? Even Emily isn't too far away when it counts!"

She placed her hand on the dusky orange sofa behind his neck, her gaze piercing in its intensity. "Reid, for once, could you look up from your pain long enough to see that you are surrounded by people willing to carry it with you?"

The growing scratch in his throat made it harder to breathe. He glanced away, flushing with sudden shame. "I-I don't know what to say."

"Say you're sorry. Say you love me, and never say anything like that again." Garcia huffed, turning away and folding her arms over her chest.

Caught between smiling at her affection and trembling at her ferocity, Reid replied in a quiet voice, "Sorry, Garcia."

"Good." She let out a frustrated sigh, leaning her head against the soft spot below his collarbone. This was twice today she'd intentionally invaded his fairly strong touch-bubble, but it didn't bother him. The contact helped to ground him in a moment when his self-control was buckling.

Besides, she smelled like citrus and sunshine.

Then, the odd sensation of rumbling as he felt/heard her disgruntled voice echo within his thoracic cavity. "I'm not going anywhere, you know. You're pretty much stuck with me. If you get transferred to Antarctica, I'll Skype you. If I get married, you had better be there for it. Even if I die in a freak computer explosion, I'll haunt your skinny butt."

His lips quirked. "My butt?"

"Your butt." Garcia affirmed, deadpan.

Reid smiled at the blonde crown. "That's... oddly specific."

"Yeah, well, you'd better believe it, buster." She shot back, distracted.

Across the room Schrödie appeared to be stalking one of Reid's slippers. They watched the hunt progress with detached amusement. The slipper never stood a chance.

When Garcia spoke again, her tone was soft and uncertain. "So, you got a cat because it can't run out on you?"

"I got a cat because I realized that I wanted a companion, but I wasn't quite ready for a relationship." Emotion stole his voice. Reid was glad Garcia was focusing on Schrödie's movements rather than applying the mind that could tear down firewalls to his vulnerable expression. "I got a cat because I'm not- I'm not giving up yet."

She hummed in acknowledgement, a tactile affirmation of her approval. Shortly after, tiny paws padded soft across the living room floor and began batting playfully at Garcia's toes. She reached forward and swept him off the ground, then leaned back against Reid and started a lazy game of capture-the-finger with the tabby.

Reid quirked an eyebrow. "I don't get it. Schrödie never lets me pick him up. He bit Morgan when he tried."

The technical analyst chuckled, stroking the cat and kissing him on the head. "Hmm, that's where the bandage came from. I told you before, genius: none can resist my goddess-like charm."

He took a breath while they played, summoning the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him for days. "Garcia, you watched Sergio for Emily while she was in Paris, right?"

"Yeah. What's up? Need a cat sitter while you're out on cases?" Garcia replied, playfully booping Schrödie on the nose.

He pursed his lips. "No - well, maybe, Mrs. Cavanaugh doesn't really get along with Schrödie - but that's not what I was getting at. When you were looking after Sergio, did you ever, ah, talk to him?"

"Course I did. Cats are pretty social. Talking reassures them; they might not get the words, but I think they get the inflections. Plus, Sergio was more responsive than mumbling at my monitor. Why do you ask?"

Reid fiddled with the edge of his patterned sweater. Phrases jumbled in his throat as he tried to give voice to his demons. "Well, I talked to Schrödie when I first brought him home from the shelter. Then I realized I was sitting in a room talking to myself. I just got... worried."

Some things did not need to be said to be understood.

Garcia squared her shoulders to look at him. Somehow, the serious expression on her face was not disrupted by the tabby kneading biscuits on her lap. "Boy genius, if your brain weren't off limits right now, I bet you'd have a dozen statistics about bonds between pets and owners. It's totally normal for people to talk to their pets. Reid, the only thing that worries me about your head is the dent you put in it. How is that, by the way?"

He smiled weakly. "I'm doing alright. My doctor was concerned about a blood clot, considering the amount of time I was unconscious and, you know, previous head injuries. But it looks like I'm in the clear, barring unforeseen circumstances."

"Like falling again, hitting your head and dying this time?" Garcia let out a strained chuckle before leaning back against him. "You gotta be more careful, doc. We've only got one of you."

A knot of tension he didn't know he'd been carrying released. Reid took a long breath, letting his shoulders fall. "I'll do that."

* * *

Tossing his keys on the side table, Reid resisted the urge to scratch his forehead as he shut the door behind him. Though it was a relief to be rid of the nagging itch of the sutures, the glaring fluorescent lights and bustle of the doctor's office had done nothing helpful for the tattoo beating against his temples.

Illumination drifted through the curtains from the fading afternoon sun outside. Shadows drifted lazily across subdued green walls. He pressed perpetually cool fingers to his eyelids and savored the momentary relief, debating whether to start dinner immediately or attempt to pass out until his headache sheathed its claws.

Then, cozy pressure at his feet.

Schrödie rubbed against his ankles and looked up at him expectantly, purring a welcome-home. His tail was upright with a lazy hook at the tip.

Warmth spread from the pit of his stomach up through his chest. Reid smiled, bent down and stroked the tabby's head to set him at ease.

Yeah, it was good to be home.

His phone chirped angrily at his belt, a beacon of light in the dark room. The caller ID informed him it was Will.

Surprised, he unlocked his phone and answered. "Hey Will, what's going on?"

The familiar Yat annunciation caught his ear, atypical tension distinct even over the line. "Reid, I'm glad I caught you. Listen, I hate to be a bother, but I'm kind of in a tight spot here. D'you hear from JJ?"

"No, why? What's happening?"

A breathy sigh. "JJ and the team're off to Cheyenne for some arson thing. Garcia's gone with 'em. Problem is, there was just a threat by the Capitol building, so Metro called for All Hands on Deck. I gotta get out there and there's no one to watch Henry."

Eyes widening, Reid sunk into an armchair and wrapped a slender arm around his middle. "You can't reach his regular nanny?"

"No, she's out of town. I can't reach anybody and I have to get out there, now." Will replied, voice strained with pressure.

"Will, I'd love to help, but I'm concussed. I can't drive over to your place. If my symptoms start coming back, I don't know if Henry would be safe with me. I don't want anything to happen to him."

"I could drop him off on my way over. Do you feel like you're gonna start seizing or passing out anytime soon?"

He paused, trying to clear his head enough to think. Statistics on brain injuries started making their way through the fog, lingering just out of focus. If he tried, he thought he could access them, but in that direction lay murderous pain. "Um, I don't think so? Not unless I hit my head again. That would be... pretty bad."

"Reid, if there were any other option, trust me - I'd take it. Can you help us out?"

He dug the palm of a shaky hand into his thigh. "Okay, sure. Could you, ah, make sure he has something quiet to do, just in case?" He finished weakly, the 'in case of what' hanging heavy in the air.

"'Course. An' he's got our numbers in case he needs to call someone. We'll be over in about twenty minutes. Reid, I can't thank you enough."

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, watered down by nerves. "Hey, it's for Henry. I can't say no to him. See you in twenty."

He looked around the apartment and chewed on his bottom lip. Change of plans.

Twenty minutes later, he had spaghetti and a can of sauce simmering on the stove. (Rossi could suck it. His head hurt too much for culinary creativity.) The doorbell rang as he was putting blankets on the sofa.

Light from the hallway sliced into the dim apartment and stabbed into Reid's eye sockets. Grimacing, he barely had time to raise a hand to shield his eyes before a slight form collided, shrieking, with his middle.

"Uncle Spence!"

He grunted slightly at the impact, twisting his face into a weak grin and returning the hug. "Ahhhh, hey buddy."

Will stood in the doorway, clad in his uniform and clutching Henry's messenger bag. "I really appreciate you doin' this, Reid. How's the head?"

"Sore. A little photosensitive at the moment, but it should pass." The taller man replied quietly, squinting.

"You bumped your head, Uncle Spence?" Henry looked up seriously, blue eyes intent. "When I bumped my arm falling outta tree, it broke. Did you break your head?"

Fighting the urge to smile at the boy's sincere concern, Spencer crouched down and allowed tiny fingers to explore his face. Henry might not follow a medical explanation, but he could understand what he could see and touch. "It's not broken; just a little banged up." He said.

Henry nodded and examined him seriously, small fingertips brushing gently from his vibrant forehead to his cheeks before squishing them playfully.

"Why don't you take your shoes and jacket off, Henry? There's a big surprise for you somewhere inside." Reid said conspiratorially, capturing Henry's hands with his own.

The boy needed no further prompting. Coat and converse went flying in a preschooler's rush to discover something new.

Will shifted from one foot to the other, eyes flickering to his watch before handing over Henry's messenger bag. "Right, everything he'll need's in here - clothes, toothbrush, teddy. There's an iPad and some headphones if you need a break. I'll try to be back by eight to take him in for daycare." His empty hand slapped the door frame lightly as a thought occurred. "Oh, and one more thing - no Doctor Who bedtime stories. JJ says he's been playing Daleks with the salt and pepper shakers again."

Reid bit his lip, but failed to hide the mischief in his eyes as he straightened up. "Right."

Elsewhere in the apartment, there was an cry of ecstasy, followed by childish giggles.

Will sniffed. He looked away and rubbed absently at the corner of his eye. "D'you get a cat?"

"Yup." Reid replied, popping the 'p.' The shaggy-haired doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, feeling distinctly like not explaining himself.

An awkward pause as Schrödie ran out of the kitchen, giving Reid what he swore was the feline equivalent of a dirty look before dashing into the bedroom. Henry came bounding after.

"Well, I'd better be, ah.." Will gestured toward the stairs with his head, then called into the apartment. "Henry, I'm heading out!"

Mismatching socked feet pattered into the living room. Henry clutched Schrödie protectively to his chest, his face positively radiant. "Bye Daddy!"

The detective's gaze softened and he ruffled his son's hair to avoid touching the tabby. "G'night, Henry. See you in the mornin'."

And then there were three.

After dinner Reid had a lie-down while he waited for the drumbeat to slow. Henry had been content to sit watching a movie for a while, but eventually was drawn away by the living, breathing new-thing occupying the apartment.

As the blinding haloes surrounding the dim corner lamps faded away, Reid noticed his godson lying on the carpet facing Schrödie. Blue eyes gazed wondrously into amber, blinking slowly. The boy had his chin propped up on his hands and was imitating the tabby's occasional mews.

Smiling to himself, Reid was about to comment on the ineffective nature of their 'conversation' when Henry made a particularly convincing meow. Startled, Schrödie's ears flattened and he drew back, turning away and stalking out of the room as though offended.

Reid wasn't sure which he found more amusing - the oversensitive behavior of his cat or the expression of guilty horror on Henry's face. In either case, he started laughing harder than he'd done in a long time.

They made magic mud and elephant's toothpaste. When twilight fell, Reid demonstrated the practical applications of his doctorate in engineering by recruiting Henry to construct a couch fort. Henry drifted off to sleep to his godfather's voice spinning fantastic stories of the enigmatic doctor who wandered the stretches of space and time in a flying police box.

* * *

As soon as his brain was declared open for business, Reid put on his deerstalker and commenced investigating the conspicuous gap in his eidetic memory. There had to be a valid reason why he'd tripped that fated night.

True, Reid wasn't the most graceful of men, but he honestly wasn't _that_ clumsy. The team had just completed a stressful case, but the fatigue shouldn't have distracted him that much, should it? He'd come home later and more exhausted than he had been the night he'd fallen. Why had he been so distracted?

Retracing his steps, Reid looked at the mail he'd hastily filed away, unopened, in his cleaning binge.

Most of it was pretty standard. Junk mail, recent editions of a few of the small-town newspapers he subscribed to, flyers for a grocery store he never frequented, an invitation to Lila Archer's latest movie premiere (with an enclosed photo of her, her fiancé, and their tremendous Siberian Husky), a postcard from his mom - and a letter from the South Padre Institute for Mental Health.

Addressed from Adam Jackson.

Reid's hand flew to cover his mouth.

* * *

Whoa, who was expecting to stumble into a plot? We've mostly wrapped up at this point. There will be one more (probably brief) update, but beyond that, there is a more pressing thing brewing in my brainpan.

Shameless self-promo: I'm working on a Broadchurch/Criminal Minds crossover. Not a one-shot, an actual casefic. If you haven't seen Broadchurch, go do that immediately. It's eight episodes of the phenomenal David Tennant (in his original Scottish accent) basically angst and solving crime. The case is compelling, the drama is real, the whump is glorious, and it is cinematically gorgeous.

This prompt terrifies and exhilarates me at the same time. If anyone is interested in being a beta (especially a British person or someone exceedingly familiar with Britain) or following me in this adventure, check out my tumblr for real-time updates.

Shout outs go to ssdub, autumnamberleaves, and Jean-Moddalle for their suggestions. This is a happy chappie, to balance out the heaviness of last chapter.

Sorry about the delay in the posting. I spent so much time on the conversation with Garcia that I entered a perfection/paralysis cycle. For reference, that scene is meant to be platonic, but you are free to squint.

As always,

**Don't write the story. Live the story.**


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